


Give Me A Signal

by redeyedwrath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Witches, dating app
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: "The profile is succinct - Derek, Age: 23, Pronouns: he/him, Sexuality: bisexual - and he starts to go back when he realizes what he read. Sexuality: bisexual. Derek Hale is bi. Derek is into men."In which there are dating apps, witches, attempted ritual sacrifices, and a whole lot of protectiveness





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY GOD OKAY HI
> 
> So I've been working on this since June (I actually have, I looked it up) and it just wouldn't cooperate??? BUT NOW IT'S FINALLY DONE!!! This was written for [embberg](http://embberg.tumblr.com), who requested Stiles finding Derek on a dating app and canon divergence, and it kinda got out of hand... Whoops...
> 
> (Also as a quick disclaimer: I'm 17 years old and I've never used a dating app in my life so this'll be horribly inaccurate, sorry folks)
> 
> The next part will be posted whenever I feel like it :p (Which'll probably be between now and uh... a week?) It'll be longer than this one too ^^
> 
>  **WARNINGS for this part:** Panic attack

At first, he isn’t using the app seriously. It’s not like he’s catfishing people, because that would just be a dick move, but it’s also not like he’s _actively_ looking for a partner. Between trying not to let his GPA slip below a four and running through the woods with werewolves, he doesn’t really have time for a significant other.

It’s only after things calm down during senior year that he starts looking into it. The last Monster of the Week had been at least two months ago so Stiles figures it was time to put himself out there. He’d matured a lot in the past few years okay, and not just mentally. He’d grown his hair out a little – at Lydia’s insistence that he would look a lot cuter to _all_ genders – and he’d filled out. Not as much as Scott, maybe, but Stiles didn’t have Werewolf Steroids to help him.

So for the first time in actual months, he opens the app. He’s glad he’d settled for an app that didn’t revolve around your sexuality – like Grindr or Tinder – back when he was sixteen. Then again, he did make his account after he met Derek, so he’d had the “Holy shit I’m a little gay” freak-out already.

He updates his account information – Age: 18, and a new profile picture – before thumbing over to the ‘singles’ tab. He’d already turned on his GPS information, so the screen is instantly filled with pictures of people and woah. He knows LA counts as California but he hadn’t expected _this_ many attractive people to actually have an account on a freaking dating app.

Scrolling to the settings page, he fills in his preferences – don’t judge him okay, he has a type, so what? – and watches as at least half of the people disappear. Well, that is kind of a bummer, but whatever. There are definitely enough people left for Stiles to make an oriented choice.

He clicks on a profile – Danielle, Age: 19, Pronouns: she/they, Sexuality: Heterosexual – and scrolls through a few of her pictures. She’s certainly pretty, but her red hair reminds him a little too much of his stint with Lydia. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s ready for another redhead – no offense, by the way, he’s just not in the mood for Jackson’s glares and Scott’s knowing looks.

Back to the previous page it is. He scrolls down the page, thumbing through a few more profiles, and he’s nearly given up on finding someone to talk to today when his heart skips a beat.

His thumb is hovering over Derek’s grumpy and very attractive face. He knows he probably shouldn’t click on it because he and Derek have formed a tentative friendship over the years and he isn’t about to throw that away over a freaking dating app, but Stiles just – he _needs to know_.

The profile is succinct – Derek, Age: 23, Pronouns: he/him, Sexuality: bisexual – and he starts to go back when he realizes what he read. Sexuality: bisexual. Derek Hale is _bi_. Derek is into men. It’s not that Stiles is judging – ‘cause that would be _really_ hypocritical – but with Kate he’d just assumed –

And okay, he knows he shouldn’t really assume what someone’s sexuality is, because stereotypes are bullshit, but it’s just – he’s _Derek Hale_. Derek Hale, who’s used his stupidly attractive face more than once to get his way with women, and who’s never _once_ seemed interested in men.

Then again, what does Stiles know? He’s never heard Derek talk about any of his adventures in New York, maybe he’d had a boyfriend back then. Or maybe he went to gay clubs.

Stiles snorts, because he can’t really imagine Derek in a gay club, scowling in his leather jacket and surrounded by drag queens. Granted, he’s had very limited experience with gay clubs but just – Derek with _glitter_.

He looks back to the profile again and scrolls a bit through the pictures. They’re all recent ones, some with Erica and one with Isaac and Stiles knows he should probably leave this alone but this is _gold_. Derek is into _men_.

He’s clicked ‘ _Send Derek a message_ ’ before he even knows what he’s doing. His fingers shake as they type out a message. Also, Derek might be into men but that doesn’t mean he’s into Stiles, okay? He probably still sees Stiles as Scott’s annoying sidekick.

 **Stiles:** Derek?

His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s tempted to just throw his phone into a wall or something, because he can’t reverse this and _oh god_ , he just ruined everything by sending Derek a message on a freaking dating app. When he looks down at the screen, three little bubbles have appeared next to Derek’s avatar and shit.

 **Derek:** Stiles? What are you doing on a dating app?

Stiles snorts at that, because _really_? What does Derek think people do on a dating app? Even better, why the fuck is Derek on a dating app?

 **Stiles:** What do you think, smart guy? I know it might be hard for you to understand, but there are actually people who want a piece of my ass

 **Stiles:** What are you doing here?

It takes a few minutes for Derek to reply, and in those few minutes Stiles has put his phone down – carefully – and started another Wikipedia cycle to distract himself, because he’s talking to _Derek_ using a _dating app_.

 **Derek:** Erica thought it was high time for me to find someone

Stiles smiles down at his screen, because he could _totally_ see Erica do something like that. He wonders how she got Derek to keep it though, because he could’ve just deleted it a few minutes later, but Derek’s profile is still up.

 **Derek:** She has blackmail

 **Stiles:** Shouldn’t you be able to keep your pups in line? Or is the big bad Alpha scared…

He could see that too, Derek cowering in a corner while Erica waves his cell phone around, cackling evilly. Derek would probably spend the entire time glaring at her, but after two years of constant exposure to that particular asset of Derek’s – namely, his impressive eyebrows – it didn’t really have much of an effect anymore.

 **Derek:** I’m not scared

 **Stiles:** So why did you keep the profile then?

 **Derek:** Because Erica might’ve been onto something

And oh, that has Stiles’ attention. He’d just assumed that Derek was kind of done with relationships after Kate. And there we go again, Stiles just keeps _assuming_ everything about Derek, which kind of hammers home that Stiles doesn’t know the first thing about him. He might want to change that though.

 **Stiles:** So, Derek, what’s your favorite color?

 **Derek:** I’m not playing twenty questions with you

And that kind of stings, if Stiles is honest. The fact that Derek thinks Stiles is just being friendly, it really confirms that Derek isn’t into Stiles. Whatever, Stiles thinks, he’s just going to keep bothering Derek until he might be. Into Stiles, that is. How’s that for a ten-year-plan.

 **Stiles:** I thought this was how people started talking on dating apps?

 **Derek:** Yellow

Stiles laughs unashamedly for a few minutes, he’s not going to lie, because Derek’s favorite color is yellow. Freaking _yellow_ , the color of the sun and happiness and it so doesn’t fit with Stiles’ perception of Derek that he just – he _can’t._

This is going to be _good_.

-

By the time the next pack meeting rolls around, Stiles knows Derek _hates_ the color purple, but he thinks fuchsia is okay, that he’s scared of fire – and that had left Stiles with an ache in his chest – and that he loves steaks. Stiles had barely refrained from making a dog joke. Just barely.

In turn, Derek knows that Stiles loves red and that Stiles hates octopuses, but inexplicably loves sushi. Octopuses and squids just give him the creeps okay, ever since he was ten and accidentally stumbled upon tentacle porn. Stiles is scarred for _life_.

He’d spent the entire hour before driving to Derek’s freaking out. What was he supposed to say to Derek? What was Derek going to say to him? What if the Pack found out? Scott had looked at him a little funny when Stiles picked him up and that had been enough to send Stiles’ heartbeat into overdrive.

Everyone’s already there when they arrive. Boyd and Erica are huddled close together and Isaac’s busy talking to Derek and Derek – Derek is looking at Stiles. Shit.

“You’re late,” Derek says, frowning and Stiles is almost 100% sure that Derek is pouting right now, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, I mean,” Stiles begins, heart pounding because Derek _isn’t looking away_ , “technically speaking you never specified a time? It was just your usual “be there” and maybe all the previous pack meetings were all around 2pm, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that _today’s_ meeting would take place around that time and–”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts and _rude_. “Shut up and sit down.”

When he manages to look away from Derek – and no his cheeks are _not_ red, shut up – he notices that everyone’s staring at him. Even _Jackson_ , and not in his usual ‘ _Stilinski, stop masturbating to thoughts of my girlfriend or I will murder you_ ’ way. Maybe Derek told them, oh god, what if Derek called the meeting to tell them?

He sits down, ignoring the incredulous look Scott throws his way, because he really doesn’t want to go against Derek right now. He picks at a loose thread on the couch. Derek should really get a new one, because this one smells bad even to his human nose and it’s literally falling apart at the seams. Maybe he’ll take Derek to IKEA some time, force him to buy some proper furniture. Maybe even a few throw pillows if Derek is feeling particularly tolerant.

“Stiles, are you even listening.”

He looks up then, face completely red, because he may or may not have zoned out while thinking about taking Derek going furniture shopping. He’s not ashamed to say the thought of it fills him with warmth and contentment and – oh shit, his heart just skipped a beat. Scott raises an eyebrow but Stiles shakes his head, and Scott – being the awesome friend he is – drops it. They’ll talk about it later.

“You were saying something about a witch, O Alpha Mine?” Stiles says, forcing himself to stare straight into Derek’s eyes. Derek’s glaring again, big surprise there, but Stiles swears he sees something different, maybe. Something that makes his eyes seem deeper. Before he can pin it down though, Derek’s already moved on to talk about the latest threat to their territory.

-

Stiles spends the rest of the week reading up everything about spells that could potentially make animals go haywire. Technically, he’s supposed to know this shit. He thinks. At least, that’s what Deaton’s blank stare when Stiles tells him about the witch probably means.

So he got distracted when studying, sue him. He had to juggle a sexuality crisis, high school and _surviving_ during his training period. He thinks Deaton should just cut him a little slack.

“Maybe you should look at the reading material I gave you a few months back, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton says calmly, but Stiles still hears the force behind it, and worse, the disappointment.

“Uh,” Stiles says eloquently, “I said I read that, didn’t I?”

Deaton gives him a look. “Yes, you did.”

“Well I didn’t really look at it in the traditional sense?”

Deaton raises his eyebrows, leaning a little more on the cold, metal table between them. Stiles swallows and tries not to shift his weight too much.

“Mr. Stilinski, do I have to remind you that this is a serious matter?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, trying not to drum his fingers incessantly against the table. “Yeah, yeah, witches and runes and spells. Obviously important.”

“Quite right,” Deaton says with a close-lipped smile and then he just walks away, not even a goodbye. Stiles huffs and picks his fingernails. He hates dealing with Deaton.

-

It’s stupid, maybe, that he’s still talking to Derek through the dating app, but he doesn’t have Derek’s cell number and Stiles just – he can’t stop thinking about Derek. He’s always known Derek’s attractive, you’d have to be blind not to notice that, but knowing that dating Derek is a _possibility_ just opened a freaking floodgate.

The worst thing though is when he’s eating breakfast, happily shoving cheerios into his mouth, and before he knows it he’s opened the app, typing out a message to Derek. It’s so familiar that he doesn’t even think twice about it until he’s already hit ‘send’.

 **Stiles:** What kind of cereal do you eat?

Derek’s response is immediate, like seven-seconds-immediate, and Stiles feels his stomach twist, his heart pounding as he thinks that maybe Derek had been waiting for Stiles to ask him something. Maybe Derek wants to talk to him.

 **Derek:** I don’t eat cereal

Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes. He might’ve bought that two years ago, but he likes to think he’s grown as a person and therefore, is less gullible. Also, Derek isn’t the same angry person with a weird affinity for leather as he was back then. The anger has faded away, even though the affinity for leather has stayed. Stiles thinks it might just be a character trait.

 **Stiles:** Of course you don’t

 **Stiles:** Come on Derek, don’t force me to raid your cupboards

Derek’s quiet for a few minutes after that and Stiles swallows down spoonful after spoonful, trying to distract himself from Derek’s apparent radio silence. Maybe he finally got tired of Stiles. Maybe Stiles went to for by saying he’d invade Derek’s privacy. Maybe –

 **Derek:** Coco puffs

Stiles spits out whatever’s in his mouth, the wooden table covered in milk and cheerios as he laughs until he cries. Derek Hale, bad boy extraordinaire and the literal big, bad wolf, eats Coco Puffs for breakfast.

-

“What happened during the Pack Meeting this week?” Scott asks him during Chem, of all subjects. Stiles hisses and swats at him, motioning for him to get the fuck down before Harris sees them talking, because he’s really not in the mood for another round of detention.

He valiantly tries to ignore Scott for the rest of the class, instead forcing himself to focus on Harris’ dull voice droning on about half-reactions and why they’re supposedly important.

“Seriously, dude,” Scott asks when they step into the hallway, not-so-subtly bumping his shoulder against Stiles’. “What happened?”

Stiles shrugs, his cheeks flushing as he thinks about what happened. He found Derek on a dating app. Derek’s his Alpha. Derek is fucking attractive. Stiles is kind of falling in love with him. He swallows, looking resolutely over Scott’s shoulder instead of in his eyes.

“Just thinking about Lydia, y’know?”

Stiles knows Scott hears the skip in his heartbeat when he lies, sees it in the way Scott pouts and frowns, but he’s not about to tell Scott that he likes Derek, of all people.

“Right,” Scott says, tightening his grip on the straps of his backpack and Stiles could _kiss him_ for allowing him to have these few more days of blissful denial. “What’d you think about the witch?”

Stiles gives him a half-real grin. It’s moments like these that make Stiles realize why they’re friends. Bless Scott’s eternally patient soul.

-

The next time Stiles sees Derek, it’s a Tuesday night and he’s freaking _tired_. He just came out of detention – freaking Harris – and he wants to nothing more than sleep honestly. He runs up the stairs, taking two steps at the same time – without falling, for once – and throwing himself face-first on his bed. He groans into the sheets, because it feels like sweet, _sweet bliss_.

“I need your help.”

If Stiles wasn’t used to the ‘ _I’m a werewolf and therefore I can just appear whenever I want to_ ’ mechanics of all his friends, he probably would’ve jumped upright and yelped. Now, he just smothers himself with a pillow, because _really_? Derek couldn’t have picked a better time, like say, not after he’s had two hours’ worth of detention.

“Why,” he moans into his pillows and jumps when the bed shifts as Derek sits down. It’s not that his bed is small, but Derek’s a big guy, so he can practically feel the heat radiating off Derek’s body. He has to resist the urge to burrow closer.

“I can come back later,” Derek suddenly says, voice soft and careful, and Stiles does jump at that, because Derek – Derek just doesn’t _do_ that. In the past two years, never has he ever left Stiles alone when Stiles asked him to.

When Stiles gathers the courage to look up at Derek, Derek’s face is soft, crinkles around his eyes. He pushes at Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles goes willingly, lying back down. It’s so weird, seeing Derek like this, the look in his eyes such a contrast with the leather jacket and the stubble and just – the _everything_.

“Just sleep, if you’re so tired,” Derek says, eyes twinkling as he pulls up the blanket. “I’ll come back in an hour, see if you maybe feel better then.”

“Mmmkay,” Stiles slurs out, already feeling his eyes slipping closed. The last thing he sees is the exasperated yet fond expression on Derek’s face and his stomach flops before he burrows into his pillow.

When he wakes up, Derek’s still sitting in his room, buried in ‘Don Quixote’. Stiles allows himself to stare for a moment, blinking blearily as he takes in that _Derek_ is sitting in _his room_. Voluntarily. He throws himself back against the bed, staring up at his ceiling as he rubs a hand over his face.

“You feeling better?” Derek asks, and when Stiles looks up, his expression is shuttered, eyebrows drawn down in a familiar glare. Stiles feels himself sigh. One step forward, two steps back.

“Sort of, I guess,” he mutters, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What did you need help with?”

Derek steps forward, pulling something out of his pocket that smells dead even to Stiles’ nose. He can’t even begin to imagine what it must smell like to Derek, and it’s been in his pocket for what must’ve been at least three hours. _Gross_.

“Oh my god, what is that,” he says when Derek throws it onto his desk, trying not to gag. Derek shoots him a look.

“That’s what I need you to find out.”

Stiles creeps forward, grabbing a sheet of paper to prod at it, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to touch something this dead with his fingers. Ever.

“It looks like a rabbit. Can you throw it out now?”

Derek glares at him and grabs his neck, forcibly pulling him closer. Stiles squawks and tries to shrug his hand off, but Derek has Freaky Werewolf Strength and Stiles is just a fragile human and he kind of values being alive.

He also values not throwing up. Which is definitely going to happen, _god_ , that stinks.

“Look closer,” Derek says, a rumble in his voice and Stiles feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Fine then, he’ll look closer. He places his hand in front of his mouth and nose to avoid inhaling too much of the smell but it’s not really working.

It just looks like an ordinary rabbit to him, apart from the mangled neck. He turns around, opening his mouth to protest to whatever the hell Derek’s doing here when Derek points at the rabbit’s ribs. Stiles leans closer, eyes watering when he sees the tiny markings in its flesh.

He tilts his head. He’s seen those before, somewhere. Probably in that one book Deaton gave him.

He grabs the book from the shelf, pretending not to notice the way Derek’s staring at him. It’s unnerving, really, especially now that he feels like he knows Derek better, like Derek knows _him_ better. There’s no reason for Derek to stare at him like that.

“Got it,” he says when he’s searched a bit in the _runes_ section. Derek kneels next to him, his face almost on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles swallows. He can feel the heat radiating off Derek, feel the way Derek’s hair brushes against his cheek with every exhale. He clenches his fingers on the side of the book, careful not to crinkle any pages.

“Text me if you find anything.”

And then Derek’s gone, jumping through his window. Stiles takes a moment to stare, because _rude_ , which is when he realizes he doesn’t even _have_ Derek’s phone number.

“I don’t even–” he starts, but Derek is probably already in the woods. He sighs, throwing the book onto his desk. Back to the dating app it is, then.

-

Turns out, they don’t even have to search for the witch, because Stiles sets one foot outside and suddenly there’s a girl in his face. Who isn’t wearing a shirt. He glances down and – no, nope, she’s fully naked.

“Stiles,” she says, wide grin on her face. “I heard you’ve been meddling with my stuff. That’s not very nice.”

Stiles blinks, trying his best to keep his gaze trained on her face. Her smile grows bigger, somehow showing more teeth as she stalks forwards. He stumbles backwards, careful not to trip over anything as he tries to keep her at a distance because there’s no way in _hell_ he’s letting her touch him.

“I’ve–” he swallows. “I’ve heard you’ve been meddling with our woods.”

He’s pressed against a wall – nowhere to run now – and the look in her eyes is predatory as she walks into his space, long nails trailing lines over his chest. He tries not to shudder and fails.

“Aw, come on, I was just having a bit of fun.”

She pouts and Stiles would roll his eyes if she wasn’t a witch – a _naked_ witch – who seems to be intent on getting up close and personal to him.

“By killing literally every animal ever?” he spits out – or tries to, because his voice stutters. Her nails dig into his flesh, the points of contacts spreading through Stiles and _pulling_ at something in him until he sees black spots appear in his vision.

She grins, all teeth and predatory glint and oh god, this is not going to end well. “I do so like to see the blood splatter everywhere.”

And then there’s pain, white hot _searing_ pain in his chest, spreading down down down until it wraps around his heart and tugs and he needs to get away because this hurts and she’s going to kill him but he can’t _move oh god he’s going to die._

Spots are dancing in his vision, the only thing he can see is the girl’s grin and he thinks, _‘This is it, this is how I die,’_ when he hears a roar and then she’s gone.

“Stiles?” someone calls, and it’s his name, he knows it is, but it’s so far away. “Stiles, are you okay?”

He’s about to say that yes, yes he is, but nothing comes out of his mouth, just his panting. Someone puts their hands on his face and it’s bad, so bad, because he can’t breathe. His heart is beating and he can’t stop and there’s not enough air and there are too many people and he can’t fucking breathe.

“Stiles,” someone says again, someone else and they’re way too close, “Stiles, it’s Derek. I need you to breathe for me.”

Derek, the name sounds familiar. He tries to breathe, tries to listen to Derek, but it isn’t working, nothing’s working and he just wants it to stop. Derek grabs his hand and place it on his stomach, and Stiles tries to pull away, but Derek keeps him there.

“Breathe, Stiles,” Derek whispers, “Breathe with me.”

He gasps when the air enters his lungs, breathing in tandem with Derek, and a hand runs through his hair, down his face to cup his jaw as he pulls in deep breaths. He doesn’t notice he’s shaking until he feels his hand move on Derek’s stomach.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks after awhile, and Stiles can do nothing but nod. He cranes his neck to look over Derek’s shoulder, but only Scott’s standing there, a concerned look on his face.

“Scott,” Derek says, louder this time, and Stiles flinches. “Get him some water and drive him back home.”

Scott just nods and walks away to grab some water. Derek keeps close, his hand rubbing over Stiles’ back until Scott comes back, and then he walks away without looking back.

-

The thing is, Stiles should probably stop talking to Derek through the dating app. Maybe he should stop talking to Derek in general, he muses as he stares at the purple icon on his home screen. Or maybe he should just ask for Derek’s number.

He swallows, ignoring the way his heart speeds up. He’s way too tired to work himself into another fit of panic, but the thought of actually asking Derek for his number, of _acknowledging_ the fact that they’re talking to each other of their own volition, just because they might like each other, makes his head spin and his heart pound.

 **Stiles:** Thanks

It’s stupid, probably, that he feels the need to thank Derek. They’ve saved each other’s lives more times than Stiles can count, yet this somehow feels more significant. More important. And Stiles feels more grateful for it.

 **Derek:** Are you okay?

Stiles tenses, thinks about it. Is he? The less immediate answer would probably be _no_ , since his life seems to have turned into a supernatural soap opera and he’s seen more blood than an eighteen-year-old should, but right now, he’s okay. Relatively speaking.

 **Stiles:** Yeah, thanks to you

Which takes him back to what happened, back at Derek’s loft. He thought he was done with the panic attacks. The last time he had one was, what, two years ago? Maybe it happened because he let his guard down.

There’s no use in dwelling on it though. It happened, and that’s it. Derek helped him out of it and now he’s okay again. Sort of.

 **Derek:** My little brother, he was human. He used to get panic attacks too.

Stiles tries to swallow around the uncomfortable lump in his throat, but finds it’s impossible. The admission might seem casual, but Stiles knows it’s not. Derek rarely talks about his family. Knowing Derek would trust him with this info, this little, seemingly insignificant tidbit of information about Derek’s life, makes his heart swell in his chest.

 **Stiles:** I’m sorry

 **Stiles:** What was he like?

He isn’t sure if he’s overstepping his boundaries. He might be, because Stiles doesn’t even know Derek that well and he’s asking about his family. He’s still shaking though, even through the blankets, and he would fall asleep if he could, but he’s restless and Derek – Derek was nice to him today.

 **Derek:** Annoying. Kind of like you actually

Stiles snorts; that’s more like the Derek he knows. It kind of calms him down, weirdly enough.

 **Stiles:** Rude

 **Derek:** He would’ve loved you

Stiles kind of wants to ask him _what about you? What do you think of me?_

 **Stiles:** I know the feeling

 **Derek:** I know you do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah I hope y'all liked it so far!!! Massive thanks to [halesheart](http://halesheart.tumblr.com) for beta'ing this, Mila is an angel <3 
> 
> Please lemme know what you thought? If I get a lot of feedback I might be tempted to post sooner *waggles eyebrows*
> 
>  
> 
> [Join me on tumblr for screaming about Dylan's nose and Hoechlin's everything! It's gonna be hella gay](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaay, here it is: part 2! I hope it doesn't disappoint :p See end notes for more warnings please: new ones have been added

Stiles wakes up with his phone laying on his pillow next to his face. He smiles and stretches. He talked to Derek until he fell asleep, and he honestly can’t remember the last time he slept so well. Even though he’d absorbed a lot of blue light. Well, whatever. Talking to Derek is worth it.

 **Derek:** You better be sleeping

 **Derek:** I mean, you better not be in trouble

Stiles snorts and rubs his thumb over the screen, pretending the message doesn’t make it feel like his heart is going to burst out his chest. It’s almost adorable, how eloquent Derek seems to be when it comes to texting, but how little he says in real life. Stiles kind of wants to hug him a lot.

 **Stiles:** I fell asleep, sorry

 **Derek:** Don’t apologize

 **Derek:** You need to sleep more

Stiles is about to respond to Derek, when someone says, “Hey, kid, how’re you feeling?”

He jumps, grin falling off his face. He doesn’t need his dad knowing about his… uh… _relationship_ with Derek. Or anything supernatural-related. But mostly Derek, because Stiles might be eighteen but his dad still has an extensive collection of guns.

“Me?” His dad nods. “I’m fine, no reason to worry about me. Never been better, I’m in tip-top shape–”

His dad smiles. “I get it, Stiles. You just...look a little rough.”

Stiles coughs and tries to smile back, hoping it doesn’t look fake. His dad doesn’t need to worry, not about him. He already has enough to worry about with the whole Sheriff thing going on.

“I’m fine, dad, _really_.”

“If you say so, kid,” his dad says, his knuckles knocking against the doorframe. “I’m going to be home late tonight, so don’t wait up, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

His dad smiles, before he sighs and tips his head. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, dad,” he says, a genuine smile on his face this time. He might be involved in supernatural bullshit – a _lot_ of supernatural bullshit, Jesus Christ – but his dad remains the same.

-

Right before he got into his car, Stiles prayed to any deity out there that the pack – more specifically Scott, because Scott could be a mother hen sometimes – would leave him alone and not smother him in unwanted affection.

Unfortunately for him, Stiles isn’t religious whatsoever, so Scott is on his side the second he enters the canteen. “Yo, dude, are you okay?”

Stiles resists the urge to throw his backpack at him – partly because of fear, partly because of how _annoyed_ he is right now. “Oh my god, why does _everyone_ keep asking me that?”

Scott shoots him a look. “You were attacked by a witch yesterday. She tried to rip out your heart.”

“Fair point,” he mumbles, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit it. He’s just _tired_. Of everything. If it was up to him he’d hug his dad for an hour and then sleep for three days – also maybe Derek would join him in bed – but unfortunately, life doesn’t like him and never has. So now he’s stuck here for a few more hours.

They walk to their table in _blissful_ silence. Stiles is writing a mental apology letter to the gods when Scott asks him, “Are you okay though?”

“I’m fine. Can we talk about something else now?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Scott says, and Stiles is about to let out a relieved sigh when he continues with, “One last thing–”

“Scott, _please_.”

“Dude, hear me out okay? Derek might have… started Project _Protect Squishy Human_.”

Jesus Christ, Stiles is _so done_. He might’ve been the one to think of _Protect Squishy Human_ , because he might not be a supernatural creature but he seems to attract more bullshit than anyone else in the pack, but today he really, _really_ isn’t up for it.

“Oh my god, I’m going to kill him,” he sighs and pulls out his phone, opening up the dating app. His heart skips a beat when he reads the last message Derek sent him, before he shakes himself out of it and punches away at his screen.

 **Stiles:** Please call off the pups before I kill them

 **Derek:** I have no idea what you’re talking about

 **Stiles:** Like hell you don’t

 **Stiles:** Scott told me

Stiles wipes his palms on his pants, biting his nail as he glances around. He doesn’t see Erica, Isaac or Boyd yet – keyword being _yet_. Shit, this is going to be the worst day he’s had in the past few years, not limited to the day Scott got bitten by Peter and the day Erica had a seizure. He fucking hates Derek.

 **Stiles:** Derek, call them off

 **Stiles:** Derek

Derek, predictably, doesn’t respond. Asshole.

-

It’s three in the morning when Stiles’ phone suddenly pings. He groans, rubbing at his eyes before checking the LED light in the corner of his screen and it’s purple. That means Derek. His heart starts pounding; what if someone’s dead? What if the witch killed someone else?

He opens his phone with trembling – with exhaustion _and_ anxiety, what a great combination – fingers, pulling up the dating app.

 **Derek:** Come to Deaton’s

Stiles feels like he’s going to puke; that sounds suspiciously like a ‘ _Don’t panic but someone is dead and/or dying_ ’ message. If someone’s dead, he’s going to kill them.

 **Stiles:** Is someone dead???

 **Derek:** No

He almost throws his phone into the wall because _Derek freaking Hale_ messages him at three in the morning for something that isn’t life-threatening and Stiles needs his beauty sleep. He’s going to kill Derek dead.

 **Stiles:** Well, then my assistance isn’t needed

 **Derek:** Now, Stiles

It’s times like these when Stiles really wishes he could go back to hating Derek. It was all so much simpler back then. Also, Stiles threats were a lot more effective, plus, Derek wouldn’t bother him at three in the fucking morning.

Although, if Stiles is honest, he likes it when Derek bothers him.

 **Stiles:** Derek, it’s 3am

 **Derek:** Now

God, nice to see Derek’s as eloquent as ever this early in the day. He rolls his eyes and pulls on his pants and a sweatshirt while trying to type a response.

 **Stiles:** Fine

-

Derek and Deaton placidly watch Stiles as he stumbles through the doors of the animal clinic, and Stiles thinks they can honestly go fuck themselves. So what his eyes are bloodshot and his hair is rumpled and he looks like a homeless person. They shouldn’t wake him at three in the morning when Derek’s already pulling him into all sorts of supernatural-related stuff.

“Ah, Mr. Stilinski. Good to see you could join us,” Deaton says, a calm smile on his face like he isn’t bothered at all. The thing is, Deaton bothers Stiles on a good day, let alone when he’s angry and sleep-deprived.

“My pleasure,” Stiles bites out as he resists the urge to grab something and throw it at Deaton’s head just to see him flinch.

Derek rolls his eyes. “ _Stiles_.”

And oh my god, Stiles has _had it_ with Derek’s attitude. He’s so done. Derek can go fuck himself for all he cares. (And he cares about that. A lot.)

Instead, he tries to channel his inner Deaton and gives Derek a close-lipped and placating smile. “Please shut up because I haven’t had any coffee yet and I slept for like four hours so I’m really tired and can we just get this over with?”

Derek grits his teeth but says nothing. Stiles has never loved him more, except for the fact that, you know, he’s kind of in love with the dude.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Deaton says, calm smile still on his face. Stiles kind of wants to throttle him. With his bare hands. “Stiles, we called you here because we have reason to suspect you’re being targeted by the witch.”

Stiles is going to kill them. _This_ is what they woke him up for? To tell him that, ‘ _Yeah, the witch wants to kill you_ ,’ because Stiles hadn’t figured that out on his own when she tried to tear him to fucking pieces.

“Oh really? What tipped you off? The fact that she tried to rip my heart out yesterday?”

“This is not a joke, Stiles,” Derek says, gritting his teeth, and Stiles would wince, only he’s kind of done with Derek’s whole ‘ _I’m the Alpha and you have to listen to me grr_ ’ business. And while yes, he’s still in love with him, he can stare acknowledge that Derek can be – and _is_ – a major dick.

“Must’ve been my mistake,” Stiles says, drumming his fingers against the cool metal table to distract himself. “I really thought the scars I have lined on my chest were part of a prank.”

And he does have scars. Thick, raised lines that look like they’re old, and if Stiles had been insecure about his body before, he sure as hell is now. Derek winces, and he’s torn between smirking at him and hugging him.

Derek glares at him. “Could you please just–”

“Mr. Hale! Mr. Stilinski! If you could put your quarrels aside please, and discuss what we’re really here for.” Deaton looks at both of them with a ‘ _Disappointed Dad_ ’ look. Stiles reflexively flinches. “Stiles, I want you to read up everything you can about Purgatory. Derek, I need you to find the witch’s hideout.”

Stiles nods – anything to get out of here and into his bed faster, Christ – but Derek opens his mouth to argue and nope, Stiles is _so_ not having this. “That’s fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on. You two can discuss the semantics of Derek’s guard dog abilities when I’m not here.”

Then he walks back out the door, not even bothering to wait for either of them and then he hears Derek growl, “I’m not a guard dog.”

Stiles smirks. He totally is.

-

Unfortunately for him, Stiles is often right when he says something. Even though it’s come in handy multiple times – especially after Derek started taking him seriously and actually _listening_ to him – sometimes it comes back to bite him in the ass. See: His guard dog comment.

He listens to Derek thump around on his roof for an hour while he pretends to do his homework. Derek probably thinks he’s being sneaky, and while Stiles would’ve agreed two years ago, he’s gotten more skilled when it comes to werewolf spotting; an unfortunate necessity when it comes to hanging out with werewolves, mostly because they have no concept of personal space. At all.

He yawns and crack his fingers, looking at the clock. It’s past midnight and Derek’s still on his roof and even though it’s not making Stiles nervous, it makes him worried. Because apparently he has feelings for Derek now, dear god. This is going to end in a disaster.

 **Stiles:** If you’re going to sit up on my roof all night you might as well come inside

It only takes Derek a few seconds to reply, but Stiles isn’t too surprised about that. In fact, he’s more surprised that Derek hasn’t come inside yet and started lurking creepily in the corner. He’s pretty sure there’s a worn-out spot in the carpet where Derek stands all the time.

 **Derek:** You weren’t supposed to notice

Stiles snorts. Sometimes it’s like Derek still thinks he’s sixteen and completely clueless.

 **Stiles:** Yeah, well, I did

 **Stiles:** Come inside

He doesn’t look up when Derek climbs through his window – and it’s so graceful, like he does it all the time, which he _does_ , the creeper – because Derek doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of Stiles’ attention on him right now. Stiles is pissed. And he’s not looking at him because that’ll probably melt away once he takes one look at Derek’s face.

“What were you doing up there?” Stiles asks, picking at his fingernails. It’s quiet after that, and Stiles _really_ can’t resist looking up at Derek anymore. Derek’s watching him with raised eyebrows, giving Stiles the ‘ _You’re an idiot_ ’ look, which, to be fair, he probably deserved.

“So _maybe_ the witch is targeting me, whatever, but I don’t need a babysitter.”

Derek rolls his eyes and moves to sit down on Stiles’ bed, taking Stiles’ acknowledgement as acceptance. Which it is, _dammit_. “She tried to rip your heart out not even two days ago.”

“Fair point.”     

Stiles turns back to his laptop and opens up his research; that’s probably the smart thing to do if Derek’s going to be creeping on him like their relationship hasn’t developed over the past few years or so. He cracks his knuckles again and opens another book on Purgatory. God, why does Deaton have so many books on these subjects.

He works diligently after that. Someone else monitoring him has always helped him when it came to homework. It’s always easier to do something you’re dreading if there are others to make sure you don’t start another Wikipedia cycle. Also, there’s something about Derek that weirdly makes him feel calm. And safe, maybe. But Derek doesn’t need to know that.

He’s just got a good rhythm going when Derek comes up behind him, breath brushing over Stiles’ neck as he looks at the book. Stiles shivers. “Have you found anything yet?”

“N–no,” he says, cursing internally when he stutters. He clears his throat. “No, not really. I just know she wants to pull off something big if she needs my – I mean, the heart of a spark.”

“Then _read_.”

“I was, before _someone_ decided to start thumping on my roof.”

Derek doesn’t even acknowledge that – probably because it’s true and he knows he can’t possibly argue with Stiles’ flawless logic – and turns back to lie down on Stiles’ bed. Stiles swallows and has to think of dead puppies and Scott naked to avoid getting turned on by seeing Derek in his bed, like he’s comfortable, like he _belongs_ there.

“Just get comfortable, why don’t you.”

In retaliation – because Derek is an asshole – Derek squirms around on his sheets before unhelpfully pointing out, “You were the one that wanted me to get inside.”

“I didn’t want you to get pneumonia,” Stiles mutters, but they both know that’s a lie. Derek can’t even _get_ pneumonia because he’s a freaking werewolf, but Stiles isn’t ready to tell Derek ‘ _Hey, so I might be a little in love with you. Or a lot, you know. Whatever,_ ’ so he’ll just settle for lying until then.

Derek rolls his eyes and pulls a booklet from the pocket of his jacket. “Stiles, _read_.”

Stiles has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from retorting. Derek just makes it so _easy_ sometimes. Almost too easy. But regardless, Derek is right: Stiles should do some reading. Because, you know. There’s a murdering witch rampaging through Beacon Hills.

He hasn’t actually seen this book before, which, at this point, seems pretty impossible. It feels like he’s read every freaking book on the face of the planet in the past two years, at east when it comes to supernatural-related ones.

Luckily for him though, there’s a huge section on witches, and he immediately dives into it. He doesn’t realize he’s biting his nail until he feels Derek’s eyes track the movement – he should probably stop that. He wipes it off on his shirt and he’s about to close the book when his eye falls on the last section.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, copying some info over into his research document and _shit_. This actually makes sense.

Derek’s immediately standing next to him, hovering over his shoulder. “What?”

“She – oh my god, she’s trying to resurrect someone.”

“That’s possible?” Derek asks, voice quiet, and Stiles swallows. Thinks back to the conversation about Derek’s little brother, and Laura’s body, torn in half, and that one picture he saw of the Hale Family. He knows what Derek’s thinking about. He’s thinking about it too.

“Yeah,” he says, hoping his voice isn’t as thick as it sounds. “But it comes with a big price; one soul in exchange for at least a thousand. You know, balance and all that.”

Derek nods and Stiles thinks back to the kanima, when he and Derek spend an hour lying next to each other, paralyzed. He’s always seen that as a sort of turning point in their dynamic – after the pool thing happened, of course. Stiles still can’t believe the way Derek looked at him that day.

“Why’d she need yours?”

Stiles blinks, ripped out from his thoughts – and musing about Derek – and tries to refocus when he remembers that yes, there’s a witch out to kill him. He should probably keep paying attention.

“I’m a _spark_ , Derek. My soul is a bunch of magic-y goodness. I’m worth at least a few hundred.”

“Stay here,” Derek growls as he tightens his grip on Stiles’ shoulder and oh no, he’s not going away right now and do his dramatic exit thingy. Stiles is so done with those; they’re ridiculous.

“Derek, I swear to god–”

But Derek is already gone, slipping into the night like the awful Batman parody he is. Sometimes Stiles wishes he wasn’t in love with him.

-

“Okay, guys, I am seriously _so done with this_ ,” he says loudly as he throws his controller onto his bed. He’s been playing video games for an hour in an effort to ignore the two – or maybe three – werewolves that are currently sitting on his roof. None of whom are Derek, of course, because Derek’s been AWOL for a day now and he’s probably left some of the Pack to check on Stiles.

He sighs when there’s no sign of life. “Seriously, I know you’re up there. Might as well come in and play some video games with me instead of sitting in the cold, huddled up together like penguins.”

After that, they all come trickling in one by one. Isaac first, then Boyd, then Erica, and then Jackson – which, _Jackson_ , really? – all of them glance at the ground and shuffle their feet like they’re ashamed of themselves, and they should be. Stiles rationally knows it’s not their fault, because Derek ordered them to do this and Derek’s their Alpha, but Stiles is nineteen years old now. He doesn’t need a freaking babysitter.

And even though he’s glad they all came inside, he’s kind of bummed Erica’s with them. She’s going to kick his ass at video games.

“Well,” he starts. “Now that you’re all here and you’re obviously not going to tell me where Derek is: COD or Left 4 Dead?”

Surprisingly, it’s Jackson who loudly declares, “Left 4 Dead.”

Unsurprisingly, Erica kicks everyone’s asses.

-

It’s been three days since Stiles has seen Derek and he’s actually getting very worried. If this had happened four months ago, he probably wouldn’t have cared, which is a weird thought. They’ve known each other for nearly three years now, and they didn’t even _know_ each other until recently.

Stiles misses semi-daily talking to Derek.

The letters on the paper start to dance and he rubs his eyes to try and get rid of it. God, he’s so tired. He’s slept like, five hours in three days. He just – he _needs_ to find a way to stop the witch, to turn everything back to the way it was. He yawns, glancing at the clock – it’s four in the morning, damn – and cracks his back, grabbing another book from the pile next to his desk.

He’s gone through what feels like a thousand books in the past month, and this one looks about as promising as the last. Which means, not at all, because he’s still found _nothing_ that could stop the witch and they really need to find something before she decides to magically transport him to a sacrificial site and cut him in half.

The yawn he lets out is probably a sign from his body, but he can’t stop, not right now. Not when he needs to keep going. He turns another page and scans it, heart skipping a beat when he gets to the end.

 **Stiles:** I think I know what we should do

Derek’s response is instantaneous. Stiles is torn between being ecstatic because Derek’s still alive and being angry because Derek hasn’t responded to all of his messages in days. Instead, he smiles faintly at the screen.

 **Derek:** If it involves you getting hurt I’m vetoing it

Stiles feels something in his chest warm up at that. It isn’t like Derek hadn’t cared about him getting hurt before, but he’s never shown it this explicitly. He wonders what changed.

 **Stiles:** Come on, it’s just a little cut to my forearm

 **Stiles:** Just a little one

 **Derek:** No

Stiles would smile if this weren’t a literal matter of life and death. Derek’s adamancy to keep him out of harm’s way would’ve annoyed him a few months ago, but now it just seems cute. Redundant – Stiles is going to win this argument regardless of what Derek thinks – but cute.

 **Stiles:** Oh my god, do you want me to die???

Which is probably a low blow, considering Derek wants to keep him safe no matter what, as evidenced by the legion of betas on his roof and the reluctance to let Stiles get scratched, but it doesn’t make it any less true. There’s no other way to stop her, at least none Stiles has found.

 **Derek:** I’m coming over

Stiles leans back and tries not to smile. It’s not like he set out to get Derek to come to him, but that’s just a fortunate side-effect of Stiles’ genius – or stupidity, the vote is still out on that one.

Half an hour and thirteen Wikipedia articles, later, Derek climbs through his window. Stiles doesn’t even bother to turn around – not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s pretty sure he’d melt if he did. Besides, he doesn’t even need to. The rhythm of Derek’s footsteps as he steps down from the windowsill is startlingly familiar. He clenches his hand around the side of his desk.

“So,” he starts, rubbing at a scratch in the wood, “about that cut…”

Derek’s warning growl is unusually close. “What, Stiles.”

“Well… I might need to take a little of your power too,” he says, careful not to let his voice waver too much. Knowing Derek is a werewolf and has supernatural healing abilities does nothing to assuage his nerves. Hurting Derek somehow seems harder than hurting himself.

Derek’s voice is small, vulnerable, _uncharacteristic_. Stiles risks a glance up through his eyelashes and immediately regrets it. It’s not even that Derek catches him looking - because he doesn’t. Derek’s staring at his hands, frowning.

Stiles is overcome with the impulse to hug him, or even just _touch_ him. He settles for squeezing Derek’s shoulder, quickly dropping his hand when he feels the muscles tense. Derek looks up and Stiles rapidly looks back at the sigils he’s supposed to be drawing. “Hey dude, I’ll be fine. It might tire me out a little but I’ll be okay.”

It takes everything Stiles has not to talk. Derek’s awfully quiet, but it’s not a good kind of silence. Less comfortable than normal. Stiles bites his lip and reads over the sigils again and again until he can practically dream them.

“Fine,” Derek says through gritted teeth after what feels like an eternity. He’s not even looking at Stiles anymore, just trying to burn a hole in the wall with his glare, arms crossed over his chest. Stiles tries desperately not to smile - he knew Derek cared for him, but not like _this_.

He takes a breath, staring back down at his hands. “Thanks.”

Derek hums something - Stiles can’t hear if it’s positive or negative, and tells himself he doesn’t care anyway - and Stiles takes a few moments to center himself before he moves over to the bed. If he’s going to exert himself for the greater good, he might as well do it where’s he comfortable.

His fingers shake as he grabs the knife from his nightstand, the hilt cold in his hand. “O – okay, now I just–”

Derek’s presence at his side is sudden and warm. Goddammit, Stiles really should buy him a fucking bell, if only so he doesn’t accidentally bang his head against more objects. He’s about to turn around and yell at him, when Derek lays a hand on his shoulder. He freezes, muscles tensing, tries not to think about how warm Derek’s hand is and how, if he moved his thumb a few inches, he’d be touching Stiles’ collarbone.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek mutters, squeezing his shoulder. Stiles pretends not to shudder and shrugs the touch off. He just – he _can’t_ , not right now. Not when there’s a witch out there, trying to rip his beating heart out of his chest.

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, again. The tip of the knife hovers over his palm, he can practically _feel_ how sharp it is. His heart’s pounding in his chest, adrenaline racing through him. It feels impossible, lowering it enough until it cuts into his skin, his body rebelling against him.

It stings when the knife cuts into him, the skin slicing neatly away. He winces at first, but keeps going. It’s easy to press on once he’s started, the sting disappearing until he’s staring at a deep cut in his hand, droplets of blood left on the blade. He stares at it for a second, a minute, heart still beating a hole in his chest.

He jumps when Derek clears his throat, fist clenching reflexively and he flinches as it pulls on the cut. His voice is surprisingly steady as he says, “So now when I drip the blood onto the map you have to touch me. My skin, I mean.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but Stiles feels his fingers tremble as he lays his hand on Stiles’ forearm. He bites his lip and softly unclenches his hand, making sure the droplets fall onto the map.

The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Derek’s panicked face.

-

He wakes with a start, shooting upright, gasping, “I – I know where she is.”

Derek jumps on him immediately, his hand against Stiles’ shoulder, pressing him back down. He’s frowning, mouth turned down at the corner, wrinkles on his forehead. Stiles stares at them and thinks he’d like to smooth them down with his thumb.

“I don’t care about the witch, _are you okay_?” Derek’s voice is rough and he doesn’t remove his hand. Stiles would giggle but he’s too _tired_ – his limbs feel like lead and his head is swimming. He just wants to lie down and sleep for three days but he – he has to help Derek.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he says, trying not to let his voice tremble too much. “She’s at the Nemeton.”

Derek’s mouth turns down even more, and this time Stiles _does_ giggle. “You need to rest.”

“No, you need – you _need_ to stop her, okay? She planning something bad.” Stiles has no idea _what_ , exactly, doesn’t even know how he knows it, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach telling him that Derek has to leave. Right now.

“I’m not leaving until you’re okay,” Derek says, his thumb softly wiping over Stiles’ collarbone, eyes soft and worried. Stiles frowns, trying to push Derek away. They don’t have time for this, not right now, Derek needs to _leave_.

“ _Derek_ –”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek says, but Stiles is already falling asleep. He hears Derek sigh, feel the mattress shift as Derek stands up. It’s silent, and he’s sure Derek’s left until his blanket drapes over him. He burrows into it, smiling softly.

“Thanks, Derek.”

-

As always when Derek has a self-sacrificing, martyr-esque plan, things go south _fast_. Stiles would’ve stopped him, obviously, if he wasn’t drained of his energy. Which is probably also the reason the witch managed to get him out of the safety of his house without alarming him.

And the reason Stiles wakes up with his face in the dirt. “Wha–”

He screams when the witch’s face appears above him. She’s wearing a smile – if you could even call it that – and Stiles scrambles up, moving backwards until his back hits a wall. The witch takes a step towards him, then another. God, Stiles wishes his head wasn’t pounding right now.

“Shit,” he murmurs, fingers trying to find something, _anything_ in the dirt. “ _Shit, I’m going to die_.”

The witch’s smile gets brighter at that, her fingers extending towards him. Stiles is going to puke.

“No, Stiles. We’re going to wait.”

Well, that – that’s a relief. Or, it would be, if her nails weren’t scraping over his t-shirt right now, the pressure digging in right over his heart. His breath hitches, spots appearing in his face and this is how he dies, _shit_. “I – I thought you needed my soul.” “

Oh, baby,” she coos, a toothed, patronizing smile on her face as she pets his cheek. “Don’t you know there are a lot of things that are more powerful than mere _souls_?”

Fuck, Stiles _knew_ he should’ve paid more attention to Deaton. He opens his mouth to ask her – might as well let his last few minutes useful – when a roar starts. The walls rattle, pots clinking and falling to the ground, and Stiles feels it travel up inside him. _Derek_.

The witch must’ve realized by now she’s in over her head, right? Stiles would run with his tail between his legs if he had an angry Alpha werewolf chasing him, but instead the witch drives her nails into his arm and yanks him over to the door. “Ah, the Alpha. Right on time.”

There’s no time, Stiles realizes abruptly, heart beating fast as Derek storms in, eyes blood-red. If this weren’t a life-threatening situation, Stiles would’ve laughed at him. Instead, he tries to warn Derek to _go back and save yourself_ , but he finds he can’t move, can’t talk. It hits him then. Stronger than souls.

“Let him go.” Derek’s voice is more a rumble than a syllable and Stiles shakes with it. He’s never been in Derek’s presence before when he was like this, more feral than human.

“What’re you doing here?”Stiles whimpers, desperately trying to pry his lips apart. Derek’s eyes find his and he doesn’t look away, pale green flickering to red and back again.

“Of course you want to save _him_ ,” the witch smiles gleefully, her hips swaying as she stalks closer to Derek. Stiles would kill her, but he’s rooted to the spot and can only watch as the witch trails her blood red nails over Derek’s shoulders. “Sure, he’s part of your Pack and you would’ve done the same for any of your betas but _him_? I made a mistake there, didn’t I?”

Stiles watches Derek shudder as the witch whispers in his ear, and he feels anger shoot through him as Derek flinches away from her blond hair. Stiles is going to rip out her throat first chance he gets for ever daring to touch Derek.

“I don’t–” Stiles chokes out, fighting against the burn in his throat that’s trying to shut him down. He flexes his fingers. “I’m just _Pack_. I’m human.”

The witch smirks at him as he hugs Derek from behind, fingers drawing circles down Derek’s chest. Stiles thinks he might puke. “But you’re more than that, aren’t you? Can’t you _feel it_ , how much he hates me right now. Poor, little Alpha, powerless to protect the most important person in his world.”

 _Stiles_ , Derek tries to say, the words shaping his lips over and over again. _Go_.

Stiles shakes his head, fingers closing around the vial of mistletoe in his back pocket. There’s no way he’s going to leave Derek behind, not like _this_ , a carbon copy of Kate Argent looking at him like she’s going to eat him alive.

“Aw, isn’t this endearing?” the witch coos. “Look at you, desperately trying to save each other. If I had any positive feelings left towards the two of you, I might’ve let you go. But I have to say, destroying you both in front of each other is so much more fun.”

Stiles opens his mouth again, anything to try and distract her from the downwards path her hand is taking as Derek is forced to stand there, but suddenly his airways close off and he can’t _breathe_.

“–Stiles,” Derek says, voice hoarse and barely a whisper. Stiles tries to smile as he claws at his throat, trying to get the invisible hands to go away, because if this is the last Derek sees of him, he’d like it to be a smile.

“Are you going to keep quiet now?” Stiles nods. “Good. I have so much in store for you two. Like _this_.”

Her hand closes around Derek’s throat, pulling his head back, forcing him to submit. Derek’s eyes flash a violent red, a roar shaking the foundation of the Nemeton, but the witch just laughs, her teeth gleaming white. Stiles feels blood trickle down from his palms.

“So much fun,” she whispers, but Stiles hears it like it was whispered into _his_ ear and not Derek’s. He can’t – he _needs_ to do something, but he’s helpless like this, can only watch as her fingers dance invisible patterns over the muscles of Derek’s stomach.

“Don’t you know, Derek? How much he’d like to touch you like this? I can practically hear him begging to leave you alone, because he knows how much I remind you of _her_.”

Derek winces. “I don’t–”

“Oh, Derek, you didn’t think he knew? Of course he did, Stiles is smart, he knows _everything_. Well, almost everything. Because as much as he’d like to touch you like this–” Her hand tightens. Stiles is going to _kill her_. “You’d like to touch him back, wouldn’t you? Too bad you won’t get the chance.”

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, almost puking as bile rises up. He wouldn’t, not if he had to, but then she starts stroking and Stiles sees _red_ and he throws the goddamn capsule and hopes it kills her.

He closes his eyes, because the clank of breaking glass and the horrible screeching that follows is more than enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life. His nose fills with the smell of burning flesh and he shudders as his stomach flips and he throws up.

He holds his breath, longer than he should, longer than he can, until the screaming stops. When he opens his eyes, Derek is standing over the body. If Stiles didn’t know him, he’d swear Derek was okay, but he can see the slight trembling of his muscles, the tightly coiled tension.

 “Derek–”

“Leave me alone, Stiles,” Derek says, voice small as he rubs his hand over his chest, like he’s trying to erase the witch’s touch and Stiles wants to do nothing but hold him and tell him he’ll be okay, even if it’s a lie. He opens his mouth to say just that, but then Derek’s gone, bounding up the stairs and out of sight.

Stiles is left with a dead body and the burning taste of bile in his throat.

-

It’s long past midnight and Stiles can’t fall asleep. He’s too busy twitching, staring at the ceiling, turning around. The sheet slips off his leg. He should probably pull them back up before his legs get cold, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s too similar to what Derek did, that one time when he made Stiles sleep.

Stiles’ heart clenches in his chest, and he feels goosebumps appear on his arms. _Derek_.

He doesn’t even know what to tell him, is pretty sure everything would be fruitless. When Derek really has his mind made up, he won’t change it, Stiles learned that the hard way. But he just – he can’t stop thinking about it, the way he looked at Stiles, what’s happened in the past few months and he _needs to know_.

 **Stiles:** This is it then?

Stiles swallows and pretends his fingers aren’t trembling. It’s a stupid move, probably. Derek won’t answer him clearly and he’ll keep everything to himself, yet all Stiles can think is _I’m in love with you_.

 **Derek:** I don’t know what you’re talking about

Stiles wants to scream. He wants to scream and cry and throw his phone across the room and storm up to Derek’s loft and punch him and kiss him and hug him and tell him it’ll be okay. Instead, he calmly types more with trembling fingers.

 **Stiles:** Like hell you don’t

 **Derek:** Stiles, don’t

It should shock him, Derek pleading, and it does. But not enough to stop. He can’t stop now.

 **Stiles:** So she lied then?

 **Stiles:** When she said all that did she lie?

He clenches his hand, unclenches it, repeats it again and again. Derek remains awfully quiet and Stiles’ heart is pounding. Maybe he went too far. He knew he shouldn’t have pushed Derek’s boundaries. He doesn’t want to become like _them_.

 **Derek:** Stiles

 **Stiles:** No you know what?

 **Stiles:** I’m done

 **Stiles:** I’m deleting this profile and you’re gonna have to talk to me face to face

He does throw away his phone then – not to the wall, but to the sheets – and buries his face in his pillow, doing his best to smother himself.

Anything would be preferable over this fucking ache in his chest.

-

Predictably, Derek doesn’t come by after that. Stiles doesn’t blame him, not exactly. What the witch did to him was – it wasn’t _good_. Stiles clenches his fingers around the straps of his backpack and tries not to bite his lip so hard he draws blood. God, he hopes there’s a trashcan nearby because it still feels like he’s about to puke.

Scott’s elbow against his ribs brings him out of his thoughts. “Hey, man, you okay? You smell sad.”

“I’m fine, man.”

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s fine, technically speaking. He doesn’t even any scars left from their Epic Showdown – apart from mental ones, maybe, but he’s not sure if they count – and he isn’t the one who had her hands trailing over his body like she’d wanted to eat him alive, but there’s a part of him that’s still bitter about all of this. Derek – he knew even _starting_ something with Derek wouldn’t be easy, and all this hadn’t made it any easier, but couldn’t Derek at least have given him a clear answer?

He picks at his fingernail in an effort to distract himself. He feels selfish even thinking about it, but the sour burn of rejection makes him feel bitter and, well, _rejected_.

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, voice gentle like he’s handling a wild animal and Stiles is tempted to cuff the back of his head. “I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it it’s fine, I just want to–”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The corner of Scott’s mouth twitches up. “Okay.”

Stiles tries to smile at him, but he can’t – he _can’t_. He can tell himself he doesn’t miss Derek all he fucking wants, but that doesn’t make it any more true.

-

It shouldn’t even surprise him anymore that Derek comes over at the most inopportune of times, but somehow, it still does. He’s towelling his hair dry, wearing a low-slung pair of sweatpants when he feels a drift coming from his open window, Derek leaning against the wall, arms crossed, posture defensive. Stiles tamps down on the urge to reach out for him.

“Stiles,” Derek says, face a blank mask, one Stiles hadn’t even realized was gone. His nails cut into his palm.

“Hey,” he says, rooted to the spot again, but this time it isn’t because of a spell. Derek’s eyes pin him down, tracking every subtle movement. He wonders if Derek can see how his heart is pounding in the pulse of his neck.

“I’m sorry for sending that. It was impulsive.”

The corner of Derek’s mouth turns up. “When are you not impulsive.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly. The remark is delivered without any bite, and it doesn’t sting, but it seems like offensive parody of how they used to be. God, he’s already thinking in past tense. This is going to end horribly.

“Okay, I deserved that,” he murmurs, looking down at his hands, threading them together. He feels awfully vulnerable, dressed in only a threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants, feet bare and hair damp and Derek looking like he always does – as if he’s straight out of a goddamn catalogue.

Derek’s voice is quiet. “No, you didn’t.”

Stiles shrugs and walks over to his bed, sitting down on it. He wishes he had his cell phone with him, if only so he would have something to do with his hands. He’s not – he’s not going to _force_ Derek to do anything.

He can’t not ask though. He is _Stiles Stilinski_ , after all. “Are you going to talk now.”

“I – Stiles –” Derek scratches at his beard, avoids his eyes. “You’re just so _young_.”

Stiles clenches his hand again – out of anger, this time. “I’m vetoing that argument because it’s based on complete bullshit.”

Derek’s eyes turn soft, pleading. He takes another step forward, shoulders tense like he can’t help himself. Stiles doesn’t stop him. “Stiles, you’re eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I die the next time some creature decides to start fucking around and all we’ve done is dance around each other?”

“You’re not–” Derek starts, and he looks so horribly broken open that Stiles can’t look at him anymore. “I don’t–”

“Derek, it’s fine. I don’t want to pressure you, but also don’t want you to martyr yourself. If you really don’t – if you really don’t want to be with me, it’s fine.”

He turns away and pretends his heart isn’t breaking into a million fucking pieces. It’s so unfair; of course the first person who’d like him back wouldn’t actually want to be with him.

“Stiles–”

He begins to shake his head, is getting ready to beg Derek to leave, because he doesn’t think he could handle anymore any excuses, when Derek catches him. Derek’s hands are surprisingly soft – something Stiles could’ve probably expected, werewolf healing and all – and he shivers as Derek’s thumb tentatively brushes of the hinge of his jaw. He can’t breathe, and Derek smiles before he leans in and kisses him.

“I thought–” Derek says, a quiet mumble between them. Stiles squeezes his hand, feeling the give of muscles underneath his palm. “I thought I’d lose you.”

“Idiot,” Stiles says, and then he kisses him again.

He doesn’t think he’ll need a dating app again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW** : Non-con touching between Derek/OFC, Stiles needs his own blood for something and as such, harms himself
> 
> Well, that was it! I hope y'all liked it ^^ Please let me know?
> 
> [*whispers* Yay I have a Tumblr ^^](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


End file.
